heart on fire
by wellthatdepends
Summary: it's the feeling of infinite falling. the feeling of hurtling towards something amazing. the feeling of finding everything you've ever been searching for and more. [high school AU]


**AN**: A high school AU that ended up 10,000 words longer that I originally planned. There's a soundtrack that goes with it, which can be found on my tumblr (wellthatdepends) or 8tracks (wellthatdepends/heart-on-fire). As always, thank you for all your kind words and support. Title taken for _Heart on Fire _by Lennon &amp; Maisy Stella. Enjoy.

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**.**

**.**

The classroom is _stifling_.

The English teacher wrote the word on the board at the start of the lesson, told them that he didn't want to hear the word _hot_ because he was sick and tired of them complaining about the obvious.

_If you're going to complain, complain creatively. _

Needless to say, Beth Greene is not the complaining type. She is the type to sit there quietly, get the work done, no matter how much her hair sticks to the back of her neck, or how much she feels the sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat.

There's no relief to be found. Not from the ceiling fans, not from the light sundress she wore that day. These days were the worst, the first few weeks after summer break, when the weather hadn't received the message that fall was upon them. When they were all restless, adjusting to schedules once more, their days planned and not endless.

However, it is senior year. And with every passing day, she tells herself that she will make the most of this year. It won't be like the last.

It will be better. _She _will be better.

She _has _to be.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The classroom is hot as fuck.

Not stifling. Not sweltering. Daryl Dixon's not going to use a ten-dollar word when a ten cent one will work just as well.

Yet here he is again, for some unknown reason, in the hot as fuck English room, a stolen copy of 'The Great Gatsby' atop a notebook already covered with grease. One more year, he tells himself. One more year and then he'll have his GED. Hell, he knows there isn't college in his future, but it's more than any Dixon has ever had before.

"Hey Dixon!"

Shane Walsh flicks a pen cap at him, getting his intention. Daryl scowls, glancing up at the board, but, as usual, the teacher doesn't give a shit.

"What?"

"Back to school party at mine on Saturday," he hisses, "think you can get us some weed?"

He shrugs, slouching in his seat. These kids pay him too much for weed, and it's not like it's hard or anything. He's not a dealer, but he knows a few.

That's all thanks to Merle.

And also: there'll be free beer.

"Sure," he mutters, "I'll be there."

Shane shoots him a grin, turns back to his buddy and he heaves a sigh.

Same shit, different day.

Only a hundred and eighty to go.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Well _that_ escalated quickly_._"

Beth screws up her nose as she surveys the sight in front of her - Jimmy making out with some sophomore whose name Beth can't remember. In front of his locker. Which happens to be right next to hers.

And she needs to get her composition book for her music class.

"Maybe I can just borrow a page of someone else's," she sighs. Tara frowns.

"Just ask him to move."

"I broke up with him," Beth sighs. And sure, in truth, she did. At the end of the last school year, when everything was too hard and Jimmy, sweet, attentive Jimmy, just made it harder.

He wanted a normal girlfriend. She couldn't be that.

"Doesn't give him a free pass," Tara reasons softly, "he knows you were hurtin'."

"Well, I'm fine now," Beth shrugs, "and I just want him to be happy-"

"You wanna move, kid?"

It's weird on several levels, when she thinks of it. That Daryl Dixon, whose locker is on the other side of Jimmy's, is calling him _kid_, like there's a ten year age gap, rather than one. Weirder still that he's at his locker. She can count on one hand the number of times she ran into him at his locker the past year.

But he's there now. Telling Jimmy, in his own polite way, to _get lost_.

And he does. Quickly, in fact. Because Daryl Dixon is somewhat of an enigma at their school. He lives by himself behind Dale Horvath's workshop. Has a brother in jail. Rides a motorbike, wears leather, doesn't cut his hair. Always smells of cigarette smoke but never gets caught smoking.

"There you go, B," Tara smirks, "your knight in a leather jacket."

He must have heard Tara. He has to have heard her. She's not quiet, and her voice carries. She's her own brand of outcast and people have a habit of paying attention to her. So when his head shoots up, and his eyes find her, she's not really surprised.

What's surprising is the smirk he gives her. And the blush that like clockwork spreads across her cheeks.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Merle's dealer is a gangly, unstable tweaker and, as a rule, Daryl doesn't like to get involved with people that are addicted to their own merchandise.

He takes Martinez, who has a sharp eye and a sharper right hook and a pair of knuckle-dusters that his grandfather gave him for his sixteenth birthday.

"How much did he give you?" Martinez asks, as Daryl grabs the envelop he threw on the dashboard.

"Too much," he scoffs, "lets hope these idiots never find their own dealer."

"They won't," Martinez smirks, "too afraid of losing scholarships or disappointing mommy and daddy."

It must be nice, he thinks sometimes, to give a crap about grades and your parent's approval. Knows that their lives aren't like Martinez's, living in a piece of shit house with too many siblings and parents trying desperately to stay afloat. Knows that they're nothing like him, living in a trailer behind a workshop, leaving home as soon as he could, picking up whatever odd job he could just to get by.

"Think some cheerleaders are gonna want to slum it tonight?" Martinez smirks, lighting a cigarette as they walk up to the tweaker's porch.

"There's usually one," Daryl chuckles, and Martinez grins.

"Beth Greene is single."

"You wanna go there?"

"Hell no," he shakes his head, "farmer's daughters are a no go. They got daddies with shotguns who _definitely_ know how to use them."

He doesn't doubt that. There's not a soul in this town who doesn't know Hershel Greene. Hell, he went out with Dale once to fix his tractor, met the man personally. He didn't look down on him, which surprised him. But, then again, that was during a time when the Greene's had other shit going on.

Who has time to judge redneck trash when one's wife and son has just died?

It's a small town and people talk. About him. About Beth Greene. About anything to distract themselves from the monotony of their own pitiful lives.

.

.

.

.

It was nice, just being a regular teenage girl for a change. Dancing with her friends in Shane Walsh's living room, along with most of the girls from her grade. In those moments, social groups don't matter, not when the music is turned up full blast and the alcohol flows freely. Not for her, though. Her red solo cup contains only soda, but she's never needed to drink to have a good time.

Sasha grabs her around the waist, spins her around to 'Shake If Off'. There won't be another 'back to school' party. Just one of many last 'firsts' that she'll experience.

The end is in sight. And her heart hurts a bit thinking about it.

But not now, not with Tara singing off-key in her ear, not with Sasha's arms around both their shoulders. Not in this moment, when she's just a seventeen-year-old girl at a party, dancing with her friends.

"Beth!"

She breaks away from her friends, throwing her arms around the person calling her name.

"Gonna steal her away, okay?" Eric grins at her friends, already dragging her outside. She laughs, throwing a quick _I'll be right back _over her shoulder, trying not to stumble over her feet.

"What's so urgent?"

"I want to get the band back together," Eric is excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling widely.

"Eric…"

"Noah's in," Eric interrupts her, "Zach too. Last year sucked, B. We need to have something fun to do in this town."

He's not wrong. He was there for every memorial, every church sermon. Just like she's was there for him when he came out to his family. To the town.

"We're going to do this, Beth," Eric grabs her by the shoulders, staring her in the eye, "we're going to make it through this year. And then we're gone."

_Gone_. Because she knows for Eric, gone means a big city - New York, or San Francisco. Somewhere no one knows his name. Somewhere where he's just one of millions.

"Say you're in, B," Eric throws an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "we can't do this without you."

"You just want me for my barn," she teases.

"Please?" Eric pouts.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. Eric cheers, spinning around.

The music carries in the wind, and he grabs her by the wrist.

"This is our jam, B, let's go!"

And he drags her back inside, back to their friends, back to the pulsing music and writhing bodies and thirty teenagers crammed into a living room, singing along to one song.

The last first party of the year. And she thinks she might actually miss this.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The whiskey is cheap. The beer is cheaper. He's thinking that whoever bought this had the same idea; scam a bunch of high school kids who don't know better.

"Beer's shit," Aaron collapses on the bench beside him, red cup in hand, nose screwed up in distaste.

"There's weed in the garage," Daryl gestures to where Shane and his friends are playing beer pong and smoking up.

"Nah," Aaron shakes his head, "trying to do less of that this year. Sick of greening out at these things."

"Everything in moderation," Daryl smirks and Aaron chuckles, glancing around.

"Sometimes I think I'm going to miss this town."

"Sure you're not high?"

"Funny," Aaron rolls his eyes, "these moments have a way of messing with memory. Gets too quiet, you know. Everyone's playing nice."

"Because they're drunk on shitty beer," Daryl rolls his eyes.

"Yeah well…" Aaron trails off, something catching his eye.

_Someone. _

"You're staring," Daryl notes, "stop lookin' so desperate."

"Fuck off," Aaron scowls, "I get more action than you, Dixon."

Daryl scoffs because it's probably true.

"Hooked up with Eric over the summer."

That's Aaron secret. His quiet truth that only a select few know. It's alright for Eric, being gay in this town, because it's almost like they half expected it. He's got nice parents and nice friends and no one makes him feel like shit to his face, because he's _nice_.

"Yeah," Daryl grabs a cigarette from the carton in his pocket, lighting it.

"He thinks just because he came out in this town that I should be able to," Aaron sighs, "he doesn't understand."

How can he? It's one thing, thinking the worst thing to happen is your dad disowning you. It's another thing when the reality would be much worse.

"Beth Greene is looking good these days," Aaron notes, changing the topic quietly.

"What's with everyone and Beth Greene," Daryl scowls, "it's like y'all have just discovered she exists or something."

"She's just as broken as the rest of us," Aaron shrugs, "guess there's just something comforting in that."

Perfection's just an illusion. Daryl could have told him that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Maggie won't answer her phone.

Here's the thing; her sister is _home_. Heads back to college next week. Knows that Beth was going to this party, hell, she _encouraged _it. Told her she'd pick her up and everything. And Beth was counting on that, while her friends made arrangements, piled into cars with their designated driver, she stood on the curb, phone in hand, _praying _for Maggie to pick up.

"You sure you're right, Beth?" Tara asks, swaying on her feet but still concerned. Beth glances towards Tara's ride; Sasha's brother Tyreese, Eric hanging out of the passenger seat window, yelling for her to hurry up.

"I'm fine," she lies, "Mags will be here soon."

"We'll wait with her," her lab partner Aaron sits down beside her feet, "promise."

Tara looks sceptical, but Eric placates her. Loudly.

"She'll be fine, get in!"

Throwing her a quick _bye_, Tara hops in the car, driving away. The music can still be heard from inside, but it's quieter, not really something you can dance to.

"Who's supposed to pick you up, Greene?" Aaron asks absently, glancing at his phone, smiling when a message dings.

"My sister," Beth answers, "but I think she's forgotten about me."

"Daryl can give you a ride."

She turns in surprise, coming face to face with Daryl Dixon, who's standing back a bit, smoking a cigarette. He exhales away from her, dropping the butt and crushing it beneath his boot.

Daryl Dixon is handsome. This feels like it should be a truth universally acknowledged, or something along those lines. Daryl is the kind of bad boy mothers warn their daughters about, all rugged good looks and hard lines. Stubble on his face, his hair hanging in his eyes. Ripped jeans and flannel, leather jackets and his angel-winged cut.

It's his eyes, however, that get her. Every single time.

"He's sober," Aaron interrupts, when it looks like she's about to protest, "you don't mind, do you Daryl?"

He grunts in response.

"I've never been on a motorbike before," she replies shyly.

Daryl raises an eyebrow.

"First time for everything, I guess."

Aaron glances between the two and grins.

"I'll be off then," he nods down the street, "I only live a few blocks away."

"Any tips for first timers?" Beth asks, fiddling with the straps of her helmet.

"Yeah," Aaron yells behind him, "hold on tight!"

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

And hold on tight she did.

It's not something he's accustomed to, this slight thing behind him, hands gripping tight around his waist. The little squeal she gave when they took off, the way he could feel her shifting behind him, moving her head back and forward, watching the dark scenery rush past.

The twenty minutes feels like two, and it's not long until he's pulling up outside the drive of the Greene farm. Shutting off the engine, easing down the kickstand, he smirks a bit as she dismounts shakily, digging her feet into the ground to remain upright.

"You alright?"

She looks almost surprised, and maybe it's justified. It's the second thing he's ever said to her.

"Not used to it, is all," she smiles softly, the moonlight illuminating her features. He swallows thickly, sniffing loudly.

"I'll walk you to the house-"

"You don't need to do that," Beth replies gently. He gives her a shrug.

"Yeah, I do."

Her eyes widen and she ducks her head down. She's probably blushing, and the thought makes him want to laugh.

"Alright," she concedes, boots crunching as they walk up the drive. He takes this time to look at her, really look at her. She's hot, in an understated way, all sundresses at school, but tonight, she's wearing high waisted, skin-tight jeans and a cropped t-shirt of a band he doesn't recognise. But it's the small sliver of skin that really gets him, accentuated by the oversize flannel she wears; her only barrier against the early fall chill.

"Thanks," she interrupts his thoughts when the house comes into view, "this was really sweet of you."

Daryl stiffens. Doesn't think he's ever been called sweet. And definitely not by girls. He knows his appeal, girls looking for a bad boy like it's a rite of passage. Merle told him once to capitalise on that, made him watch 'Rebel Without a Cause' like it was some kind of 'how to' guide.

_May as well be, for guys like us_.

And this is the moment where he looks at Beth Greene. Not at her clothes, or her body. But the expression on her face, the look in her eyes. She is the epitome of a small town good girl and rebellion is the last thing on her mind.

"No worries," he shrugs. _Any time_ burns at the tip of his tongue but he swallows it quickly, "I'll see ya round, Greene."

Safer. Solid.

He doesn't even look behind him when he walks away.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Beth's not sure what that makes them.

_Friends?_ Does one ride constitute as a friendship? They share classes, they're practically locker neighbours. They've known each other for years, in the same way that everyone in this small town knows one another.

Fall hits with full force. There's a chill in the air and she starts to wear thick tights under her dresses, along with Shawn's old denim jacket. It's too big, and too heavy, but it's a comforting weight. Almost like a suit of armour. Almost like she's prepared for battle.

"Got us a gig," Noah tells her, one afternoon, as they're leaving the music room and heading to her locker, "Rosita's Halloween party. She wants us to do an hour set."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Noah grins, "whatever we want, too."

She grins, throws her arms around him, that he returns, laughing. Beside her, someone clears their throat.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," Beth apologises. Jimmy gives her a pained smile.

"Congrats on the gig," he mumbles, "I just need to get my science book."

They're quiet until Jimmy walks away. Beth rests her head against her locker.

"It's so awkward," she complains, and Noah chuckles.

"Good thing you run in different circles," he smirks.

"Maybe," Beth sighs, "but have you seen our school? It's one giant interconnected Venn diagram."

"Can't escape anyone," Noah confirms.

Beth can think of an exception. And his locker is two down from hers.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He skips school in favour for work. Tries not to make a habit of it, just as Dale tries not to encourage it. But sometimes mechanics get sick, or business is busy, and it's only when he's desperate does Dale ask if he can work a school day.

And Daryl's not going to refuse. Not when he needs the cash. Not when he's promised Merle that he'd put some money in his commissary.

Martinez and Aaron visit him during what would have been last period. Gym and study hall, respectively, and Martinez complains that he _isn't gonna climb no fucking rope _this year. And Aaron just shrugs, mumbles something about study hall being one of those waiting rooms of life and other shit Daryl doesn't understand.

"Greene gave me this," Aaron hands him a few photocopied notebook pages, "she said, and I quote 'noticed Daryl wasn't in English today, could you please give him these and I hope he's feeling okay'. And then she blushed a bit and walked away _very_ quickly."

"Ooh," Martinez teases, "Daryl Dixon, you charmer, you."

"Shut up," he quickly folds up the pages and shoves them in his pocket, "we're friends."

"You give a girl one ride home and you're friends?" Aaron asks, sceptical.

"What kind of ride?" Martinez leers, prompting Daryl to smack him around the head.

"She's a good girl," Daryl mutters, "too good for me. Too good for anyone in this town."

"Her band is playing at Rosita's Halloween party," Aaron notes, "She can't be _that_ good of a girl is she's playing there."

Because Rosita Espinosa's parties were infamous. And her Halloween party was bound to be full of slutty costumes, cheap vodka, and enough gossip to keep the kids in their town placated until winter break.

It doesn't hit him until later, when he's in his trailer, staring at her loopy handwriting that he very much wants to go to this party. Wants to see Beth Greene on the make shift stage, standing behind her keyboard, voice carrying across the crowd.

And if she needs a ride home, well, he'll be quite happy to oblige.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"You should start thinking about prom."

"Mag_gie_," Beth groans. He sister shrugs, continues chopping vegetables.

"Someone has to remind you," Maggie reprimands her, "Daddy's not going to remember."

"Who would I even go with?" Beth sighs, "I broke up with Jimmy, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Maggie frowns, "doesn't mean there aren't any other boys at your school. What about Eric?"

"He's going with Tara," Beth states, "I don't think I'll go, Mags."

Maggie sighs, chopping with a bit more force. Beth feels bad, because her sister is _trying_, trying so hard. Has been since last spring, but Beth always finds herself putting up her walls.

"There's a boy," Beth admits, "I don't know if I like him, but I could."

"Really?" Maggie smile grows wide, "that's wonderful, Bethy. Is it Zach? Or the other boy in your band?"

"No," Beth says softly, "it's, uh, Daryl Dixon."

Maggie's knife stills, and her sister slowly processes that big piece of information.

"Is he who gave you a ride home that night?"

"Yeah," Beth smiles, "he's kind of quiet, but he's sweet."

Maggie nods, heaving another sigh.

"You know about his family?"

Of course she does. Everyone in this town knows about the Dixons. His mama who died in a house fire when they were in elementary school, his brother Merle, in and out of juvie until he turned eighteen and currently _in_ jail. Will Dixon who lives in a trailer on the edge of town, a mean drunk whose own son can't even stand to live with him.

_Redneck trash_, Jimmy had scoffed once, and that never sat well with her, not when Daryl Dixon didn't seem to share much with his brother and father save for their last name.

"Yes," Beth answers solemnly, "everyone does. Just like everyone knows about ours."

And it's a truth that people rarely acknowledge. The Greene family tragedy and the spring that followed.

How Hershel Greene started drinking again and his teenage daughter started cutting herself.

Even the most respected of families have skeletons in their closets.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Beth Greene is the type of girl that is popular, but not conventionally so.

He won't admit this, but he likes that about her. She's not a cheerleader; she's not into extracurriculars. She does choir and is in a band and is the type of girl to give you a copy of her notes without having to ask. She's nice. She's considerate.

She's a _good _person.

So when she turns eighteen, on a Tuesday, her friends decorate her locker and that Noah kid, who works in the office, wishes her a happy birthday over the PA system and plays _Bohemian Rhapsody_, which must be some kind of inside joke between her and her friends, who immediately start dancing and singing loudly. Which would be obnoxious, were it anyone one else but Beth Greene.

And as the day progresses, he starts to realise more and more, how well liked she is. All these random kids and teachers stopping by her locker to wish her a happy birthday, it's kind of surreal.

(A part of him remembers her at the end of last year, the shell of the girl who practically lights up every room she enters. A part of him wonders how much of this is sincere, and how much is deep seated pity.)

Eric bakes her cupcakes for lunch, her friends sing to her and he can see her blushing from where he sits with Martinez and Aaron.

"You know what you can give her for her birthday?" Martinez smirks, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't be obscene," Aaron scolds, but chuckles, "besides, Daryl's dream girl is heading in our direction."

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps, but his timing is off, because suddenly Beth is right beside him, eyes widening slightly as she overhears him curse.

"Um, so Eric baked too many and I was wondering if you guys would like one?" she thrusts the Tupperware container towards him, that familiar bush staining her cheeks.

"Beth Greene, you are the sweetest," Martinez coos, like he wasn't suggesting seconds ago that Daryl fuck her, "Daryl, isn't she the sweetest?"

"Thanks, Greene," he clears his throat awkwardly, taking one of the small frosted cakes. It's pink, and he imagines the shit Merle would give him if he saw him right now.

"Yeah, thanks Beth," Aaron says absently, throwing a small smile past her and in Eric's direction. Kid isn't subtle at all.

She smiles widely, practically skipping back to her table.

The girl is sunshine and starlight, so fucking bright.

She also makes him feel sick to his stomach.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Beth hates being a teenager sometimes.

Too many hormones and too many people talking about sex. Who's having it, who wants to have it. Who they want to have it _with_.

Tara bemoans the fact that the only action she gets in this town is with drunk girls wanting to experiment. Can't wait for college. Eric is uncharacteristically secretive. He's hooking up with someone, that they know, but he isn't about to out them when they aren't out themselves.

Beth had sex with Jimmy once. A month after her mother and brother died, in the back of his truck on the edge of his daddy's property. It was quick and it hurt and they broke up before they could do it again.

Sometimes, when the urge becomes too much, she'll slip her hand beneath her sheets and into her panties, fingers finding her clit and rubbing until she feels that sweet, familiar build up of sparks. She'll make herself come, panting quietly, always slightly on edge and worried that her dad, on the other side of the house, might hear her, or somehow know.

Which is ridiculous. Considering he's caught Maggie in more compromising positions when she was her age.

This is one of those nights, when she feels wound tighter than an elastic band. Her thoughts turn to Daryl Dixon, with his rough hands and muscular arms and she imagines him holding himself above her, imagines his calloused fingers stroking her clit. Imagines his deep voice whispering into her ear, urging her to come.

And when her orgasm rips through her, faster and more intense than ever before, she finds herself imaging what it might be like to have the real thing.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Rosita's party is ridiculous. Scratch that, _Halloween_ is ridiculous.

He isn't going to complain about his childhood; it's never done him much good anyway. But there sure as hell wasn't any Halloween, wasn't any trick or treating. No homemade costumes. So, unsurprisingly, he doesn't dress up.

Neither does Aaron or Martinez. But apparently Rosita won't let them in without a costume, and her linebacker boyfriend, Abraham, is going to enforce that rule.

The things guys do to get laid, seriously.

"That's why I'm always prepared," Aaron smirks, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a few items. He throws Martinez a moustache, and Daryl an eye patch, donning a bolo tie for himself.

"Pirate, Cowboy, and…Mexican?"

"Fuck you, man," Martinez scowls, "racist fuck."

"Whatever, did you bring weed?"

Daryl tosses the plastic baggie in his direction, and with a flourish, Abraham waves them right in.

"At least your girlfriend hasn't started her set yet," Aaron nudges him, pointing towards where she's wearing a short white dress and an ivy crown. The whole band is dressed similar, wearing robes or togas, and ivy garlands.

He doesn't really pay them much mind. Not when she's dressed the way she is.

"Hi," she says quietly into the microphone. The band is still setting up, plugging things into amps, but she just grabs an acoustic guitar, and starts strumming softly, her voice carrying across the small room.

"_Love struck Romeo, sings the street side serenade. Laying everybody low, with a love song that he made. He finds a convenient streetlight and he steps out of the shade. Says something like, "you and me babe, how about it?"_

And fuck, as if he isn't mesmerised. As if the whole room isn't on the edge of their seats, figuratively. Because the party girls are swaying softly, and the jocks are watching quietly as they pass around a blunt. And it's just her voice filling up that small room. Beth Greene and her guitar.

When she finishes, softly, quietly, like she began, her friends let out a whooping cheer and she grins, blushing on that makeshift stage. Noah grabs her guitar, positioning the keyboard in front of her, and Zach gives her the thumbs up.

"We're 'Modern Mythologies'. Thank you."

It's her on the keyboard, Noah on the bass, and Eric on electric guitar, her voice clear and haunting. Then Eric lets loose on the fret, and Zach comes in on the drums and it's all thumping rhythm and bodies jumping and he can vaguely recall this time last year, this same band, magnetic and energetic, and Beth Greene leading the charge.

Somewhere during the break of the song, her eyes find his over the keyboard and she smiles, slow and easy, not a blush in sight.

Daryl's not an idiot. The signs are all there.

And he's going to make a move tonight.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Rosita's taste in music is not that of the norm. Sometime during the evening, after her set, after the obligatory teen dance USA party jams, she switches to her own mix; Weezer and The Gin Blossoms and Neutral Milk Hotel. It doesn't instigate much dancing, but it's that point in the evening where the party is starting to mellow out, where people are feeling the effects of their substance of choice and are either talking quietly in small groups, or making out in dark corners.

It's quiet. It's thoughtful. It's _nice_ and familiar and she flashes Rosita a soft smile across the room, her mind going back to discussions in choir, scrawling 8tracks links on note paper, listening to each other's mix during study hall.

"Hey,"

She spins around, coming face to face with Daryl Dixon, sans costume.

"What are you supposed to be?" she teases, taking a sip of her non-alcoholic drink.

"Pirate," he pulls a patch from his pocket, holds it up to his eye, "_arrrhh_."

She giggles and he smirks, shoving it, along with his hands, deep into his pockets.

"Cute," she notes and he honest to goodness_ blushes_. And it makes him even cuter.

"Just checking if you need a ride," he says casually and her face falls just a bit.

"I'd love one, but this costume…" she gestures down to her too short dress, the one that Sasha convinced her was perfect online, but, naturally, was much more revealing than the picture.

"I have my truck," he says quickly, and she perks up, giggling once more.

"Sure," she beams, " in that case I'd love one. Just let me say goodbye to my friends."

Her friends, all various stages of drunk, wave farewell, and Rosita gives her a hug, thanking her profusely. She feels giddy and happy when Daryl opens the passenger seat door for her and she blushes as she struggles with her seatbelt.

"It sticks," he explains, and he reaches across her, pulling the strap across her chest. His hair brushes her cheek and he clears his throat nervously once she's buckled in, rushing with his own seatbelt.

"Thanks," she whispers, and he nods, staring at the road as he pulls away from the house.

"You were, uh, real good," he mutters gruffly, "the band."

"Thanks," she replies shyly, "we were a bit rusty, but it went pretty well."

"Sounded great to me," he shrugs, glancing at her quickly. She blushes and lowers her head.

He chuckles lightly.

"What?" Beth asks, glancing up at him.

"You always do that," he murmurs.

"Do what?" Beth implores, smiling gently, cheeks still burning.

"That," he gestures to her face.

"Oh," Beth feels herself growing redder, if that was at all possible, "yeah. I know. Pretty sure it must be some kind of medical condition," she jokes lightly, rolling her eyes.

"It's cute," he avoids her glances, "it's you."

"Oh."

It's quiet in the cab, and she tries to process his words as best as she can. He thinks she's cute. Feels her stomach fluttering anxiously and she grabs his phone from the dashboard, typing quickly.

"What are you doing, Greene?" he asks, looking at her quickly.

"Giving you my number," she smiles, hitting save. His phone is old, functional with just the basics. She calls herself quickly, hitting end before her ringtone can blare through the truck. Saves it as _Daryl_, complete with a smiling blushing face emoji, a cigarette emoji, and a yellow heart emoji.

"Why?" he asks, confused.

"So you can text me to let me know you've gotten home okay," she replies quietly, smiling coyly, "and some other time, if you wanna."

"Yeah," he smirks, "I wanna."

"Good."

He turns into her drive, but instead of stopping, he continues along the gravel path, pulling up to the house.

"You didn't have to do that," she says softly, but he's already out of his seat, making his way around to open the door for her.

"Yeah, I did."

She smiles, reaching for his hand in the dark. Fingers intertwining, she leads him up to the porch, the automatic light coming on, blinding them both momentarily.

"Sorry, my daddy got that installed because Maggie-"

She doesn't get to finish her sentence, not when his lips find hers, his mouth warm and heavy. Her hand is still clasped in his, but she brings her other up to his shoulder, pulling herself up and into the kiss. She gasps when his hand leaves hers to encircle around her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. This is better than any dream, any fantasy she could have imagined. Better because his tongue swipes across her lips and hers part, just as her hands entwine around his neck while one of his tangles in her hair.

"Bethy, is that you?"

"Fuck," he breathes into her mouth, "I gotta go, Beth."

"Yeah," she doesn't let go, rather peppers kisses across his jaw, "you gotta go."

"Don't want no daddy with a shot gun shooting up my ass," he murmurs, hands framing her cheeks, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

"If you're going, go," she teases.

"I'll text you Greene," he reluctantly lets her go, and she bites her bottom lip.

"I'll be waiting."

She steps into the house as she hears his truck rumble back up the drive. Bids her father a quick goodnight, before heading for an equally quick shower.

Throws on a pair of cotton shorts and Shawn's old baseball jersey, hops into bed, breathing in the crisp, soft sheets, wriggling until she's comfortable.

Her phone buzzes on her side table.

Daryl: Im home. Im ok.

Daryl: Sweet dreams Greene.

She smiles, giggling in the dark.

Beth: You too, Daryl Dixon. xx

And her dreams are, in fact, the sweetest she's had in a long time.

.

.

.

.

Things were simpler alone, in his truck. School feels like a whole different minefield.

Firstly, he's not sure where they stand. Is he her dirty secret, does she want more. Does he want more? Making out on her porch is easy, it's simple. It's instant gratification and he likes that. Like's it a hell of a lot.

This week has been secret smiles and hand grazes in hallways. He shows up to his locker between classes and the quiet flirtation continues. Her friends must know; Tara smirks at him in math class and Sasha gives him the once over when him and Beth are making eyes during lunch.

She texts him after school, and he replies once he finishes work. She's not phased when he doesn't answer her message until late that night, telling him how she understands, knows he has work. She's not waiting by her phone for his call; she's not _that_ kind of girl.

What kind of girl is she? Funny, for a start. In a dark, sarcastic way, that he never really expected. Flirty, and he imagines if he didn't have a piece of shit phone, her message would have a lot of blushing emojis. But she likes to tease him, promises to invite him over so they can go for a _ride_. Tells him how it's a shame that it's too cold for swimming, because the pond is _perfect_ for skinny-dipping. Skypes him one night, plays him a cover she's working on and it's amazing how he has a newfound appreciation for Taylor Swift.

It's Friday when he talks to her; _face to face_ talks to her. Tara's away, so he doesn't feel bad when he slips into her seat during study hall.

She smiles at him, and he nods back, opening up his English book, leaning back and propping his feet on the desk. The teacher is late, probably stopped for a smoke if he'd have to guess, so the class is rowdy. Still, even if the teacher were there, he probably wouldn't give a shit. Seniors and all that.

With her head bent over her math book and ear buds in her ears, he taps her arm to get her attention. Glancing up, she smiles and he points to her ears.

"What you listening to?"

"Lorde," she replies softly and he shifts his desk closer to hers, the legs dragging on the floor. A few people watch on curiously, but he ignores them, plucking one of the ear buds from her ears and placing it in his. He stretches out again, his feet on the desk and one arm slung across the back of her chair. Concentrates on his book, well, as much as he can, with the music pumping through the small speaker and into his ear.

Concentrates on that as much as he can, but it's hard, when he's busy playing with the end of her ponytail, curling the silky strands around his fingers.

There are more curious eyes on them now, and he thinks _good_, because this is as close to Facebook official as they're going to get, given as he doesn't actually _have_ Facebook.

But it's effective. Because by the end of the day, the whole school knows that Beth Greene is dating Daryl Dixon. And, much to his surprise, he is quite okay with that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Being Daryl Dixon's girlfriend is kind of the best thing ever.

He's attentive and secretly sweet and, sure, he's not a fan of PDA, but he's affectionate in other ways. Like how one day he snuck out during study hall and brought her back a cherry coke. Or how he carries her books to and from their shared classes.

Or how one day he sits down next to her at lunch, backwards on his chair, and starts stealing her grapes.

Outside of school, there isn't a lot to do in this town. Not that they get a lot of time together; between work for him, and band practice and the farm for her, they're lucky if they see each other on weekends. And it's getting tough, keeping it from her father. Not that he's a secret, they're well and truly past that. It's more that she's not _ready_, not ready for the questions and certainly not ready to bring him to the farm.

Well, in a 'daddy, meet Daryl' capacity anyway.

She does invite him over, one Sunday, after church, when her daddy is spending the weekend helping out a family friend a couple of towns over with calving problems. He isn't due back until Monday, but she knows she's not ready for anything besides Netflix and making out on the sofa.

The thing about Daryl? He doesn't seem to mind. She knows he wants _that_; he's a teenage boy, after all. But he doesn't mention it, not even as a joke. He seems content to let her set the pace, his hands never straying from her waist or above her clothes.

So here they are, on a rainy Sunday, eating popcorn and sipping on pink lemonade, two episodes into a Korean drama.

"Too much reading," he complains, grabbing a handful of popcorn and she nudges him with her foot.

"You're enjoying it," Beth teases, leaning over to kiss his cheek, "the main character reminds me of you."

"Yeah?" Daryl smirks, "cause we're both dazzlingly handsome?"

"Yu_p_," Beth pops the p, "and moody, and loyal, and totally smitten with the female protagonist."

"You the female protagonist?" Daryl scoots closer, and she snuggles into his arm.

"Well, this is my life, isn't it?" Beth grins, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You're strange, Greene."

"You like it, Dixon."

"Like a lot of things about you, girl," his voice grows rough, and she thinks she might be swooning a bit.

He has a habit of doing that to her.

"You know what I like about you, Daryl Dixon?" she breathes, swinging her leg over his, straddling his legs. His hands find her waist and she grins. She gathers her long hair in one hand and leans down, pressing her lips to his. Daryl smirks against her lips, grabbing her makeshift ponytail and winding it around his fist. It's a clash of teeth and tongue, any nervousness or awkwardness long gone.

Practice makes perfect, after all. And this is not their first rehearsal.

"You're killing me, Beth," he pants, and she squeals when he flips them over, pressing her down onto the couch, her hair fanning around her, "so beautiful."

He peppers kisses down her neck, across her collarbone. In the background, one the characters throws a fit in Korean, but all her focus is on Daryl Dixon, looming over her, making her fantasies become a reality. Kisses her hard, fingers grazing the skin where her top meets her pants and a part of her want him to inch them higher. Or even inch them lower.

"Oh my god!"

That idea flies out the window, however, with the interruption of a shrieking Maggie.

And Daryl goes toppling off the couch onto the ground.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

His eye is still pretty tender.

And he's embarrassed as fuck.

But Beth promises to keep his secret, let the kids at school believe his black eye is the result of a street fight, rather than falling off a couch and hitting it on the end of a coffee table.

Fiction is always better than reality, anyway.

Daryl didn't imagine his introduction to Maggie Greene would come with a bag of frozen peas thrown at his face and her cussing him out, ranting about contraception and how he _better not be a fucking dumbass about it_.

Of course he's not. Anyway, they're not doing anything to warrant birth control.

Yet.

He wants to. Of course he wants to. Thinks about it every single waking moment of his day. Hell, he _dreams _about it as well. How can you not, with the real thing pressing into you, whimpering and moaning and wriggling her hips in sweet, innocent, _torturous _ways.

It's enough to drive a guy insane.

"Hey."

And suddenly she's there, brighter than the fucking sun. She's all pale skin and pretty pink lips and a permanent bounce in her step. Stands between his legs as he leans against his locker, smirking.

"So yesterday…" Beth trails off nervously and he chuckles.

"Your sister is ridiculous," Daryl shrugs, "but she's looking out for you. Can't fault that."

"Shawn would have roughed you up a bit," Beth murmurs, "well, he would have tried to scare you, but I don't think that would work on you the same way it did on Jimmy."

He's quiet for a moment. Beth doesn't mention her brother. Doesn't mention her mother, either. He knows they're dead, knows it still pretty recent. But he isn't about to pry further. And judging by the pained expression on her face, talking about him, even just briefly, is still as painful as it was the past spring.

"Merle would have hit on you," Daryl admits quietly, "I probably would have hit him, you know, to defend your honour or some shit."

"My hero," Beth grins, leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "whatever would I do without you?"

"Probably get in less trouble from your sister," Daryl smirks and she rolls her eyes.

"That doesn't sound like fun at all."

"Nah, it doesn't," his hands find her waist and he makes a mental note to keep that in check. He doesn't want her to have to explain to her daddy how she got detention for 'inappropriate behaviour'.

Then again, she's standing in front of him, smelling like vanilla, biting her lip coyly, it might be worth it.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"I hear you're seeing someone, Bethy."

She drops the cutlery. Which is probably the clearest admission of guilt ever.

"Daddy-"

"Before you go accusing Maggie," her father interrupts, "as I'm assuming she already knows, I heard this from Mrs Williams at the hardware store."

Sasha's mother. Of course.

"She was curious, as well as a bit concerned," her father continues, and she stares at her shoes, "something about him being a Dixon."

"Daddy, Daryl's a good guy, I swear!"

"So there is a Dixon," he father frowns, "you'd best stay away from his father's place. Will Dixon is not a man I want you associating with."

"Daryl doesn't even live with him," Beth argues, "He hates his dad!"

Her father doesn't say a word, bending slowly to help her collect the dropped silverware. She sighs audibly and he places a gentle hand on her knee.

"I keep wondering how your mother would handle this news," he says quietly, "I have no doubt she'd tell me 'trust her judgment, Hershel', so I'm going to do that. You are a good judge of character, Bethy, always have been. You have a great, however odd, group of friends. If you see something good in Daryl Dixon, I'll believe you."

"Thank you, daddy," she whispers, and he smiles.

"Now help your poor father up," Hershel grabs her hand, "these knees aren't what they used to be."

She helps him, but she still feels guilty.

"It wasn't a secret," she says quietly, "it just wasn't time to tell you."

"I'm not mad," her father embraces her gently, "I know you would have told me when you were ready."

"Would have made him come to Sunday dinner and everything," Beth smiles wryly and her father chuckles.

"He'll still have to," he kisses her head, "no boy that's dating my daughter is going to get away with it that easily."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Daryl hates gym.

Not for the typical reasons. He's fit, he can hold his own. He hates the stupid athletic shorts, hates the squeak of sneakers on the gymnasium floors, hates doing the same drills they've done since elementary school.

Hates wrestling. He knows how to fight. Wrestling isn't fighting.

Most of all, he hates Shane, who, sure, is his best customer. But he's a dick. Probably will always be a dick. And is certainly living up to his dickish reputation now.

"Should Eric be participating? Since he's _gay_ and all."

"Shut up, Walsh," the gym teacher snaps, "run the exercise."

"I just don't want him grabbing my _junk_, or anything."

"What a coincidence, since none of the girls in school want to grab your junk either," Zach cackles, a few others joining in.

Eric, to his credit, doesn't look phased, only annoyed.

"You're not my type, Walsh," he sighs, "don't worry."

"I just don't feel comfortable," Shane complains, loudly, "someone else do it."

"Jesus Christ," Aaron jumps up off the bleachers, "you're an asshole, you know that, Walsh? I'll do it since you're such a fucking homophobe."

"Language, boys," the teacher sighs, blowing his whistle, "take position. And go!"

It doesn't last long. Eric's terrible at gym and Aaron was on the wrestling team in junior high.

"Think Aaron enjoyed that match a little too much," Shane whispers loudly.

That's it. Daryl's had _enough_.

"Shut the fuck up, man."

"Language!" the teacher shouts.

"You want to get in on this, Dixon?" Shane sneers, "What, you start fucking Beth Greene and suddenly you're the defender of her merry band of weirdos?"

"I'm warning you, Walsh!" The whistle blows again.

"How about we fight," Daryl stands, walking down the bleacher steps, "settle this like men."

"Fine by me, Dixon," Shane smirks, "you're going to lose, though."

The teacher, who clearly lost the ability to give a fuck years ago, counts them in, and they're grappling, each trying to get the upper hand.

"You know Jimmy fucked her first, right?" Shane gets him into a chokehold, "You know that she tried to kill herself? And then my boy Jimmy dumped her ass because no one wants a shitty lay who cuts herself-"

And then he's punching him. Over and over again. Doesn't even know what he's punching, all he can feel is flesh and bone and his fists are warm with blood. And it doesn't last long, this moment of self satisfaction, because Martinez and Aaron are dragging him away and the gym teacher is yelling and he knows he's in deep shit, knows this might mean suspension, or, if Walsh kicks up a big enough stink, expulsion.

Doesn't matter though. All seems worth it, when he thinks about it.

No one talks shit about his girl and gets away with it. Not unscathed, anyway.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"You're an idiot, you know," Beth sighs, pressing a cloth filled with ice cubes to his knuckles, "Shane Walsh is not worth your time."

"Can't let him say shit like that and get away with it," Daryl mumbles, "besides, the dumbass couldn't get a hit in anyway."

"A noble idiot," Beth sighs, "but mostly an idiot."

"You know, most girls would have loved that," Daryl complains, "their guys fighting for them and all that crap."

Okay, so maybe a part of her did love it. The part of her that thinks about him while lying in bed at night. The part of her that wishes he would touch her where she oh so secretly wants him to.

Maybe a part of her swooned a bit, when she heard that her boyfriend had beaten the shit out of Shane Walsh in some misguided act of chivalry.

"What do you want, Dixon," she teases, "a medal or something?"

"Yeah," he pulls her down onto his lap, "or something."

When his lips find hers, her hands immediately tangle in his hair, angling the kiss in her favour. She's not quite sure how she found herself in his trailer after school, but she's glad she did. She loves the small space, loves how incredibly reflective of _him_ it is. From the crossbow on the table, to the small collection of stolen and second-hand paperbacks filling the small bookshelf. It's so different to any teenage boy's room she's ever seen. It's neat, it's clean. There are no posters of scantily clad women. No Spiderman sheets.

It's a space that belongs to a man. A man whose hands are inching up the back of her shirt, his fingers spanning around her waist.

"You're hurt," she whispers, as he kisses a trail down her neck.

"Not that hurt," he murmurs, tongue tracing her collarbone.

"You're suspended," she hums, his mouth latching onto her neck, sucking gently.

"I'll pick up some extra shifts," he shrugs, "take you somewhere nice."

"Don't need you to spend your money on me," she whimpers, as his teeth graze her skin.

"Maybe I want to."

With that, he lifts her by the thighs, manoeuvring their way to the bed and depositing her on the surprisingly soft mattress. She stretches her arms above her head, grinning at him. He grins back, crawling across the mattress, his legs on either side of hers, his forearms keeping his weight from pressing down on her.

Thing is, sometimes she wants to feel his weight, wants it to serve as a comfort, as a warmth. Wants him to use his body to make her feel safe. Like, right now, she's never felt safer.

"Daryl," she breathes, and he's still holding himself above her, on one arm even, as his other hand smoothes through her hair, travelling down to cup her cheek. She sighs into the touch, nuzzling into his hand and closes her eyes as he leans down to press the gentlest of kisses to her lips.

"Don't gotta do nothin'," he murmurs softly, "nothin' you don't wanna do."

He's so _sweet_, and she doesn't know how she got so lucky, doesn't know how he doesn't already have a girlfriend. Because Daryl Dixon is boyfriend material, without a doubt, and maybe she thinks, _their loss_, because she saw past the stereotypes and last name and caught a glimpse of the type of man he really was.

A good kind of man. The best kind of man.

"This is good," she smiles shyly, "being here, in your arms. It's good."

He smirks a bit, but she knows he understands. And yeah, he's a bit awkward, as he settles beside her, and pulls her to him. Reminds her a bit of the stoic and uncomfortable heroes of the shows Shawn used to love so much. Who don't know how to express themselves to the girl they secretly love, who feel bound by some kind of honour or duty, who don't believe they deserve good things in their lives.

Daryl Dixon deserves it all.

So she doesn't hesitate when she wraps herself around him, curling into him, filling up the spaces and softening the angles. Slides her leg between his and grabs his hands, pressing his bruised knuckles to her heart.

When he looks at her then, in that moment, all wonder and amazement and disbelief, her heart feels like it could just about burst.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He survives the holiday season. Thanks to Beth, that is.

She invites him to Thanksgiving dinner, which looks like something out of a movie; the decorated table, and the giant turkey with all the fixings. He's never experienced anything like that, feels a bit like he's floundering.

It was the first time meeting Hershel Greene as the _boy courting his daughter_. It's intimidating as fuck, and Daryl panics the whole driver over, tugging at the tie he borrowed from Dale, before ripping it off entirely. Which he instantly regrets, because he doesn't know how to re-tie it.

She tells him it doesn't matter. That he's seen Maggie's suitors wearing less. It doesn't make him feel better though, makes him think that maybe the old man is looking at him like he's taking advantage of his daughter. He's used to being pre-judged, Daryl Dixon. No good redneck asshole and the like. This one just doesn't sit right.

He takes refuge outside, in the chill, a cigarette warm between his fingers. He hears the slam of the screen door and waits for Beth to appear by his side.

"Terrible habit, son."

Daryl murmurs a quick curse_, _stomping out the cigarette, picking up the butt and everything. Wipes his hands on his slacks, and stands up a bit straighter before he turns to greet the man.

"Nervous, I guess," Daryl shrugs, and, as an after thought adds a quick, "sir."

"I'd say don't be," Hershel smiles wryly, "but I'd be lying."

Daryl nods solemnly and takes a seat on the creaky porch swing.

"Bethy gave us all a lecture beforehand," he chuckles, "stood in that kitchen in her mama's apron holding a turkey baster and threatened all kinds of things if we weren't nice to you."

Daryl smirks, because yeah, he can imagine her doing that.

His heart soars a bit as well, imagining her doing that for _him_.

"So we're going to have a nice meal," the older man continues, "and I'm going to embarrass my daughters by making them sing some folk songs. And I'll interrogate you after the holiday season, alright, young man?"

Yeah. It's alright by him.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

New Years is spent in the woods.

Beth's never camped in winter before. Never dared to, but Daryl knows what he's doing. Writes her a list of what to bring, his chicken scratch barely legible, but she keeps it all the same. Glues it in her diary, alongside ticket stubs and receipts and photo booth pictures. Treasures it for what it is; a small token of his affection. A small piece of him. A list leading the way into his world.

She feels a bit useless while he pitches the tent and she pokes through the food he's bought. There's not much. And she wonders if maybe she forgot something from her list.

"What are we going to eat?" she calls out, zipping up his backpack.

"Dunno," he answers, "rabbit, squirrel. Whatever we can find, I guess."

_I guess_.

"What do you mean?" she frowns, and he moves over to where she's perched on a log, slipping beside her, draping an arm across her shoulder.

"I mean," he gestures to his crossbow, "that thing ain't just for show."

"You're…you're going to _hunt_ our dinner?" she asks incredulously.

"Nah," Daryl chuckles, "we are."

Oh. _Oh_.

"Okay."

"Don't worry," he nudges her gently, "we ain't gonna starve out here."

He grabs her backpack and places it in the tent, before slinging his over his shoulder. Shouldering his crossbow on the other, he leads her through the dense woods, pausing occasionally, examining surrounding nearby foliage. She tries her hardest to tread quietly, cringes at every crack of a twig and crunch of a leaf. He doesn't seem to mind, not really. Throws her a smirk every now and then, until he throws his arm out, stopping her in her tracks.

"There's a warren over there," he points to a small opening, "we'll wait a bit, see if anythin' ventures out."

"So you've been doing this for a while?" she whispers, pulling down her beanie.

His eyes find hers, but it's his hands she notices, and the way his grip tightens on the bow.

"Yeah," he replies shortly, "the old man used to take me an' Merle huntin'."

It's not a good memory. She knows this, so she doesn't dig any further.

"You go hunting a lot?" Beth asks softly. He replies with a quick nod. "You know," Beth says gently, "if you want to come for dinner, daddy won't mind-"

"Shhh."

There's a rustle in the bushes, and Daryl raises his crossbow. A rabbit jumps forward, and pauses long enough for Daryl to let loose his arrow.

It flies through the air and finds it's target. Straight and true.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He doesn't want to talk about his past. Not tonight. Not when he's trying to make things special.

So he ignores her instead, skins the rabbit on the edge of the small clearing where they're set up. Glances at her every now and then, where she's back perched on her log by the fire, reading their holiday English assignment, which he already finished a few days ago.

Daryl buries the innards and skins so they don't attack other wildlife, secures the rabbit to a stick and walks over to the fire.

"Looks less like Thumper now," she says wryly, and he smirks.

"You live on a farm, girl."

"Doesn't mean you ever get used to it."

She's sweet, this girl. Too sweet for him, he sometimes thinks.

Enough of that, though.

He cooks the rabbit over the open flame, with practiced ease. She talks about Christmas with her family, Maggie's new (_secret_) boyfriend. The new drama she's watching. Constantly reassure him that she's warm enough, and she probably is, in the four layers he made sure she was wearing, but still, he worries a bit.

"Brought marshmallows," she tells him, after dinner. He chuckles because of course she did.

Sweet, remember.

So they roast them and while no camping trip of his has ever included marshmallows, he likes this part of the evening. Likes the way the fire dances in her eyes, likes the way she sucks the goo off her finger tips. Like the little 'o' her mouth forms as she extinguishes the flame.

He swallows thickly. This is quickly becoming a problem.

"I wanna sleep," she murmurs, leaning into him watching the fire burning low. Leans up and presses a kiss to his jaw, before she stands and makes her way towards the tent. The lantern comes on, outlining her silhouette and, god, she is _perfect. _Sees her small waist as she shucks her jumper, sees the flare of her hips as she shimmies out of her jeans. Has to force himself to look away, think of other things, like rabbit innards and Merle and school lunches. Think about anything that isn't Beth Greene undressing.

"Daryl?"

Her voice is soft, uncertain, and he takes his time with the fire, before entering the tent, zipping it closed behind him.

She's rearranged the bedding, so instead of a blanket, two sleeping bags, and a comforter, it's an unzipping sleeping bag providing an extra layer above the blanket, the second sleeping bag covering her, leaving him enough space to slip in beside her.

It's exciting and terrifying and makes him want to kiss her and run from her, all at once.

He kicks off his boots, removes his heavy jacket, and pulls up his side of the makeshift bed, careful not to touch her as he settles beside her.

"You can touch me," Beth whispers, "if you want to."

Of course he wants to. How could he want anything else?

Boldly, he inches his hand towards hers, fingers entwining when he comes in contact. She rolls onto her side, bringing their joined hands to her stomach.

Her soft, silky, _naked_ stomach.

He jerks his hand back, startled. Her eyes are dark, intense, and she raises her hand to rest on his neck.

"I want to," she breathes, "if you do."

That's all he needs, and he surges forward, capturing her lips in a bruising, overly eager kiss. There's so much bare skin that he doesn't know where to touch her first, all he knows is that he wants to touch every inch of her.

"Fuck, Beth," he curses, because she's _completely _naked. And if he's not careful, he'll blow his load before he can even get out of his jeans.

_Think of rabbit guts, think of Merle, think of _Merle_. _

Her small hands find his belt buckle, undoes it shakily and pushes down his jeans until he's clad in only his boxers and flannel shirt. He kisses her again, his tongue stroking into her mouth, fingers trailing down her side, _just_ brushing against side of her breasts. She moans and squirms and edges closer to him, her bare leg brushing his.

And it's like _electricity_ is coursing through his veins.

He's done this before. Girls his brother knew. Older women. Once, a girl his brother paid for. Never girls like Beth. Never someone he cared for.

His hand travels down her stomach, between her thighs and she gasps when he dips his fingers between her folds. She is so wet and in the dim light of the lantern she is blushing furiously.

"I never," she stutters, glancing away, "I mean, _once_, but…"

He doesn't fucking want her thinking about Jimmy right now.

Instead of words, his thumb finds her clit, stroking slowly, firmly.

"Oh _god_."

Yes. _Yes_. Any shyness, any embarrassment, is gone and she's bucking against his hand, slipping her own hands into his boxers, taking him in her grasp. He nearly comes there and then in her soft grip, his fingers stroking her faster, distracting her from her own ministrations.

"Come on, baby," he hisses, "come _on_."

She explodes around his hand, moans his name so loud that he's thankful they're in the woods and not in his trailer. He wipes his hand on his shirt, and shifts so he's hovering over her, and she's working his boxers down his legs.

"Just a sec," she pants, reaching over into her backpack, pulling out a small foil square. He's so grateful that she thought ahead, because, despite Maggie's prior warnings, he was in no way prepared for this moment.

She rips the packet open and with, this time steady hands, she rolls it down over his length.

"Please don't ask me again," she whispers, when he pauses.

All hesitancies are gone when he sinks into her. She winces and he adjusts his pace, moving slower. She is so tight and wet; he knows he's not small. Lets her get used to him, lets her stretch around him. When she bucks her hips, he knows she's ready, and he thrusts shallowly, picking up his speed as their rhythms align.

He's so close to his release, but he wants to make this good for her. Wants to make this everything her first time wasn't. He moves his hand between their joined bodies, his thumb once again finding her already sensitive clit. Rubs little circles as he thrusts in and out of her, lips covering hers; tongue and teeth and her whimpers building and building and building-

\- until she falls. Falls apart, in his arms. Falls apart around him, walls contracting and bringing him to his own release.

He rolls off her, panting heavily. Beth sighs, curling into him. Their skin is warm and though it is the middle of winter, in the woods, the comforter feels stifling.

Beth's phone beeps and she giggles, rolling away briefly to silence it.

"What?" he grins, and she pecks him quickly on the lips.

"Happy new year, Daryl Dixon."

Happy New Year, indeed.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Winter, she would never have imagined, is for lovers.

Doesn't call them that out loud, because they're high schoolers, governed by their hormones for the most part. Her friends call Daryl her boyfriend, and she supposes that he is. They've never put a verbal label on it, never really needed to. They're _together_. And that's enough.

Some mornings he picks her up for school. Pulls up to the house and knocks on her door and everything. She knows her dad appreciates his efforts, how he's trying to be the good guy, trying to show him that he's treating her well. Holds her hand when they walk through the school building, says hello to her friends. And some how, without her knowing exactly, his friends become hers, and she's sitting next to Martinez in math and her and Aaron are getting reprimanded for talking too much in class. And her table of six becomes a group of nine and weekend plans become so much harder to organise, but in a good way. In the _best _way.

"We _have _to go," she squirms her way out from under Daryl, who has her pinned to his bed, hands drifting down her sides.

"Nah," Daryl murmurs, "like this better."

"I promised Tara," Beth grins, "and it'll be fun. Movie nights at Tara's a legendary."

"This is more fun," he smirks. She reaches behind her, grabs a pillow and gives him a solid _whack_.

"Nope," Beth uses the distraction to slip out of the bed, shimmying into her panties and jeans, "we're going to go hang out with our friends."

"Then you'll let me fuck you?" Daryl moves to stand behind her, whispering in her ear. She shivers, from both his words and the proximity.

"Nope again," she shakes her head, "after Tara's you're going to take me home. And if you want to stay on my daddy's good side, it will be before curfew."

"So many rules," Daryl presses a kiss to her neck, "who knew if would be this difficult dating Beth Greene?"

Her heart soars every time he puts their relationship into words. She knows it's not one-sided, has known that for a while, but she likes to hear him say it. To confirm that he feels the same as her, tenfold.

"Yeah, but I'm worth it," she breathes, spinning in his arms, her arms looping around his neck.

And sure, she might be joking, but the way he looks at her, like she hung the stars and the moon, he makes her believe she truly _is_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Daryl hates his father. This isn't a secret. Hell, he's lived out of home since he was sixteen. Kids don't leave home if it's all sunshine and roses.

Hates his father for how he can take something good and ruin it. Like he did his mother.

He still has nightmares about it, about seeing the flames from the woods, about arriving at his house at the same time as the fire department. About how the nameless fireman held him back while he screamed that his mother was in there.

How they had to save her.

Truth is, he lost her years ago.

Blames himself sometimes. Thinks maybe if he'd taken a few more hits, a few more kicks, his mama wouldn't have drunk herself to death. Thinks sometimes that a few broken ribs are a small price to pay for her life.

Thinks a lot of things he can't change.

Just like he thinks he might love Beth Greene. Like, _really_ love her. Hearts and flowers and chocolate. That kind of love. So when Valentine's Day approaches, he decides that he should get her something.

And that's how Daryl Dixon finds himself in a jewellery store, trying to find something Beth will like, that doesn't break the bank.

He should have brought one of her friends, but it was a spur of the moment decision, and now that he's there, he's going to find something. Decides against a ring, because he doesn't think he's ready for the connotations that come with that kind of purchase. Not a necklace either, not when he knows that the locket she constantly wears once belonged to her mother. Just when he starts to believe that this is the worst idea he's probably ever had, he spies them

_Them_ being a set of gold earring, little arrow studs and he's not poetic or anything, but they're perfect, in a flowery, romantic, meaningful way.

(Like it's a piece of him. Or some crap like that.)

Daryl mumbles a quick _yeah_ when the shopkeeper offers to wrap them for him. Shoves the small box and the receipt in his pocket and heads over to the liquor store to buy some smokes.

That's when he runs into _him_.

"Did I just see my _son_ leave a jewellery store?"

Crap. Shit. _Fuck_.

"What's it to you, old man?" Daryl sneers, walking straight past his father and to the counter, where the clerk looks nervous.

And Daryl doesn't blame him. If he wasn't nervous when one Dixon walked into his store, then two should have him reaching for his shotgun.

"Did you knock her up, boy?" his father calls out, "Is old Hershel Greene makin' you buy his little princess a ring so some quaint little shot gun weddin' might distract them all from the fact that she's carryin' the next generation of Dixon?"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," Daryl snaps, "so shut up."

"Shut up?" Will Dixon laughs, "_shut up_? Boy, you got some balls tellin' me to shut up. You're not that tough that I still can't beat the shit out of you."

He curls his hands into fists. Counts to ten. Breathes.

Thinks of Beth.

"Whatever," Daryl throws the money on the counter, snatching up the cigarettes, making his way to the exit, "bye, _dad_."

It's only when he's out of the shop and halfway down the street when he relaxes his hands. Ignores his old man shouting behind him.

Ignores everything, save the weight of the jewellery box in his pocket.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She can't stop admiring the earrings. To the point where she has nearly a dozen selfies on her phone, showing the side of her head.

"These are seriously so cute!" she exclaims, once again. Daryl, bent over the hood of her car, chuckles.

"Glad you like them, girl."

"Earrings and an oil change," Beth giggles, "this has got to be the best Valentine's Day ever."

"I know you're teasin'," Daryl grumbles, "but do you know how much a professional oil change costs? Because if you did, you'd be a hell of a lot grateful."

"Dar_yl_," she jumps onto his workbench, swinging her feet in the air, "you know I love _all_ my presents. You treat me so well."

"Just sorry I had to work," he slams the hood closed, wiping his hands on his rag, "know you probably wanted to go out, or somethin'."

"Good thing I like staying in," she grins, beckoning him forward. Once in reach, she grabs him by the belt loops, pulling him between her legs.

"Can't fool around in the workshop, Beth," Daryl smirks, taking a step back, but she holds him in place.

"Who says?" she teases, hands travelling up and tangling in her hair.

"Dale," Daryl deadpans, "specifically told me, 'don't fool around in the workshop'."

"What a disappointment," Beth sighs. Perking up, she reaches into her bag, pulling out a skinny box. "Got you a present, too."

Eying it curiously, he lifts the lid, revealing a stainless steel, bone handled hunting knife. It's high quality, with a good weight and distribution and he hasn't said anything, but she knows that he loves it.

"My daddy helped me pick it out," Beth explained, his eyes still fixed on the knife, "told me it was a good brand…"

"It's perfect, Beth," Daryl says quietly, "thank you."

"Happy Valentine's Day," she says softly.

In a stride, he closes the gap between them, hands cupping her cheeks, lips finding hers. It's a heavy, longing-filled kiss, like he's trying to pour everything he's feeling, everything he could never say into that one action. And she kisses him back with that same kind of passion because she _knows_, because she _understands_. Because she wants him to know that she feels it too.

This feeling of infinite falling. This feeling of hurtling towards something amazing. This feeling of finding everything you've ever been searching for.

And sometimes it scares her, the idea that maybe she's found her soul mate at eighteen. And sometimes she doubts what is lust and what is destiny. And sometimes she questions if maybe, at the end of the day, she is just a girl with too many romantic notions, raised on vampire novels and epic tales of romance. If her generation has been conditioned to look for _forever_, if they've been raised to believe in _fate_.

Not now, though. Not now, when she's in his arms, and he's kissing her like she could disappear at any moment.

"Thought you said we couldn't fool around in the workshop," she pants.

"Changed my mind," he breathes, and silences her once more with a kiss.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Spring brings a feeling of dread.

Thing is, he can't really explain why.

Beth's spending a bit more time with the band, which is understandable. They're practicing for Rosita's post prom party, and he knows she's working on something new.

But she only mentions prom in the context of the after party. Doesn't mention the prom itself.

"Do you, uh, wanna go?" he asks her in the hallway one day, gesturing towards a poster. She shrugs, looking almost disinterested.

"Do _you_?"

He blinks in surprise.

"I asked first."

She sighs. Not in that cute, Beth way, all breathless and content. But something akin to frustration. At _him_.

"I have to get to class, Daryl."

He doesn't bring it up again.

But Maggie does.

"Are you taking my sister to prom?" Maggie all but demands, hands on her hips, Beth well out of earshot.

"Dunno," Daryl shrugs, "she didn't seem too excited about the idea when I brought it up."

"Damn it, Beth," Maggie curses, rubbing her forehead, "she's so stubborn, you know?"

"Yeah," Daryl nods, "I know."

"Annette," Maggie sighs, "Beth's mother, she was real excited about prom. Even though it was ages away, she would look at dresses on the internet, hairstyles and the like. I keep telling her that her mama would _want_ her to go and be happy, but she just doesn't listen."

He understands. Not sure how he'll be able to convince her otherwise, but he understands.

Still, he buys two tickets anyway. Just in case.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

She doesn't do it on purpose, but she feels herself pulling away.

Adds a few extra bangles to her wrist, skips school in favour for playing her guitar in the hayloft. Lies to Daryl, lies to her friends, lies to herself.

_I'm fine, you guys, everything is fine_.

Her hands clench under desks, her eyes blink back tears.

Maybe if she can convince others, she can convince herself.

It's been a year. A year since the accident that took her mother and her brother, a year since her family fell apart and she tried tear herself to pieces to put herself back together. A year since Maggie found her, crying and bleeding in her bathroom and held a tea towel around her torn wrist as their father drove them to the hospital.

She doesn't think she'll forget that aching combination of sadness and helplessness and desperation. Doesn't think she'll ever forget the moment she decided to kill herself. Or the moment she decided to live.

Beth skips three days before she returns to school. Forges a sick note from her father that no one questions because she's Beth Greene. Forces a smile and talks to her friends, but she knows that they can see right through her. Just as they know that the anniversary is coming up and they're all watching her carefully, making sure that she's not about to fall apart.

And not just her friends. Jimmy too.

"Hey."

She jumps, bumping her arm on her locker, wincing at the pain. He grimaces.

"Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"It's alright," Beth forces a smile, "I wasn't paying attention."

"Look, I, uh," Jimmy rubs his neck uncomfortably, "I kind of wanted to apologise for the past year. We were friends before everything, and I think I forgot that. I guess seeing you with Dixon...wasn't easy to accept."

"Thanks," Beth says softly, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry for how everything ended. I didn't mean to hurt you or make you feel like the bad guy."

Jimmy offers her a small smile, and in his eyes she sees the hint of the guy she once loved. Funny and sweet and outgoing; he's the type of guy who doesn't tolerate bullying, the type of guy who helps out at church functions. The type of guy who will make a girl really happy one day.

"I just wanted to let you know," Jimmy scuffs his shoes against the linoleum, "that I'm still here for you. If you need a friend to talk to."

"That means a lot," Beth sniffs, wiping at her eyes, "thanks Jimmy."

And then she gives him a hug.

Which probably isn't the best move, hugging your ex in a crowded hallway. And, in hindsight, she would take it back. But Jimmy was a friend first, boyfriend second, and you can break up with a person by you can't ignore a decade old friendship. You can't shove those kinds of memories to the side and pretend otherwise.

But when she catches Daryl, staring at her, a blank expression on his face, her stomach drops because in his eyes, the emotion is so clear.

It's _betrayal_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"I Didn't see you in English."

Daryl shrugs, stepping out of the doorway, letting Beth in his trailer.

"Picked up an extra shift."

Which is a lie. Truth is, seeing her hug Jimmy rattled him. Not because he thinks she might be cheating on him or anything, she's not that type of girl. But because it's becoming quite clear that she trusts everyone but him with her emotional baggage.

And that fucking stings.

"Brought your class work," she pulls from her backpack a few sheets of notes. "and this."

A bottle of peach schnapps.

"I need a drink," she smiles sheepishly, "will you drink with me?"

"You've never drunk before, girl," Daryl mutters gruffly, "why the fuck now?"

She flinches a bit at his tone, and he clears his throat, staring around the room. He's not in the mood to deal with this. Just wants to be left alone and sulk. Knows he'll get over it in his own time, just like he knows that he shouldn't get so worked up about the Jimmy thing.

"Please just do this with me, Daryl."

"Fine," he sighs, "but you ain't havin' your first drink be peach schnapps."

He walks to the small cupboard above the microwave, shifts a few cans to the side and pulls out a large mason jar, filled with clear liquid.

"Moonshine?" Beth asks incredulously, "Where did you get moonshine?"

"Stole it from the old man," Daryl shrugs, sliding the jar towards her, "drink up."

"Aren't you gonna drink with me?" Beth asks, blinking her big blue eyes. He sighs, stands again to grab a glass, sloshing some of the liquid into it.

Beth smiles, takes a sip, almost spitting it back out.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted!" she exclaims. She places the glass back to her lips, taking a second sip, grimacing. "We should play a game. What about I never?"

"Ain't never needed no game to get lit before," Daryl grumbles.

"Funny," Beth rolls her eyes, "I'll go first. I've…never shot a crossbow."

"Seriously," Daryl takes a gulp, shaking his head, "this ain't much of a game."

"Whatever," Beth sighs, "it's your turn."

He doesn't like this. Hates this. Hates playing these stupid, ridiculous high school games with Beth. Hates it because she's better than this, better than all the idiots at their school who drink themselves blind at parties. Who play these games as just another way to show that they're better than everyone.

And Beth is better than all of them, combined.

"I've never been out of Georgia," Daryl shrugs. Beth smiles, and takes a small sip of her drink.

"I've never…been drunk and did something I regretted."

She's got him there. Because before her, there was Merle, and with Merle came a whole heap of trouble and nights he can't remember. Or nights he can remember but would give anything to forget.

"I've never been on vacation," he says, after he takes his sip. Beth gives him an odd look.

"You've been camping," she says, confused.

"That ain't a holiday," Daryl mutters, "That's survival."

Beth looks at him for a few beats too long, studies him in a way that makes him uncomfortable, to the point he's almost _eager_ for the next statement, if only so she'll stop looking at him like she's trying to extract all his secrets.

"…I've never been to jail."

Daryl can't breath.

"Is that what you really think of me?"

"I didn't mean anything serious," Beth replies, nervousness evident in her tone, "I mean, like, maybe Merle got you both into trouble or-"

"I gotta take a piss."

He's on his feet and heading towards the small bathroom and if she says anything, he can't hear it over the rush of blood in his head.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The moment she said it, she wished she could take it back.

Perhaps she could blame it on the alcohol, but even that feels like a poor excuse.

"I'm sorry Daryl," she calls out, "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Can't hear you!" he yells, "I'm takin' a piss!"

"Daryl-"

"Oh wait," he storms back out of the bathroom, "it's my turn now. I've never eaten frozen yoghurt! Never had a pet pony, never got nothin' from Santa Claus! Never sung out in front a big group out in public, like everything was fun! I sure as hell never cut my wrists looking for attention!"

That one stung like a slap in the face and leaves her reeling.

"Screw you," she mutters darkly, and he barks a laugh.

"Is that is?" he taunts, "Is that all you've got?"

"You don't understand," she swallows thickly, trying not to cry, "I've never expected you to."

"What's to understand?" Daryl snaps, "Mothers die. Sometimes in car accidents, sometimes in fires. That's life, Greene, nut up."

"Nut up?" Beth repeats, blinking incredulously, "My mother _and_ my brother died the very same day. I lost _half_ my family is a matter of seconds. Do you know what that's like, knowing that one day they're there, and the next they're not? _Wondering _if maybe you could have done something, delayed them by a few minutes, if they would still be alive? Don't tell me to 'nut up', when you have absolutely no idea-"

"I've been wondering that since I was eight fucking years old!" Daryl interrupts, knocking the jar off the table, smashing to pieces on the ground, "And you know what I now realise? It's a waste of fucking time! 'Cause it didn't matter how many hits or kicks I could've taken, she still would've found a way out. Passed out, smoking a cigarette, or hanging from the rafters, it doesn't make a goddamn difference. My mama killed herself, Beth! She wanted out, and she didn't want to live with the guilt, so she fucking killed herself!"

"Is that what you really think?" Beth asks quietly, feeling the tears pooling in her eyes, feeling like for the first time that this is Daryl unfiltered. He might not be revealing to her his physical scars (she knows they're there, just as she knows he's not ready), but his emotional ones are rawer, rougher. Angrier.

"That's what I know." Daryl shrugs bitterly.

"Is that what you think of _me_?" she finds herself whispering, arms crossed around her stomach, as if to hold herself upright.

His silence speaks volumes to the point where it's _deafening_.

"Well," she takes a shaky breath, reaching for her backpack and Shawn's denim jacket, "I'm gonna go now."

She flicks her hair out from under her collar, and fixes him with a piercing stare.

"I survived, Daryl," she narrows her eyes, "I made it. And you don't get to treat me like crap because you're afraid-"

"I ain't afraid of nothing!" Daryl snaps.

"Whatever, Daryl," Beth sighs, "fine. You win. I'm gone."

"Fine."

"Please don't call me," she whispers, making her way to the door. When the metal doors bangs shut behind her, she breaks into a run.

It's a small victory, but she doesn't even cry until she gets home.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Prison is a goddamn joke. It's not like in the movies; there's no plexiglass divider and a phone. No, Daryl has to visit his brother in a room with a dozen other families. Screaming children and crying wives and the whole thing gives him a headache and makes him wish he'd never come.

"Happy birthday," Daryl offers, half-heartedly, embracing his brother lightly (once at the beginning, once at the end).

"Aw, Darylina, you remembered," Merle is an ass as per usual, his tone mocking and mean, "where's the cake?"

"Didn't have a shiv to bake into it," he deadpans, "so I didn't see the fucking point."

"Guess the commissary funds will do," Merle throws him a rare, genuine smile, "thanks, baby brother."

"Don't mention it," Daryl shrugs.

"Not long left, you know," Merle notes, "once I get out of here, we can go anywhere we want."

Daryl doesn't answer him right away. That's his first mistake.

"Or not," Merle raises an eyebrow, "what's going on, Darylina?"

"Thinkin' of going to community college," Daryl shrugs, "Dale said he'd keep me on if I get my ASE."

"College?" Merle's jaw practically drops, "No Dixon's ever gone to college before."

"First for everything."

And god, it feels like the complete opposite of when he told this to Beth. He remembers how excited she got, how she started looking up community colleges close to the universities she'd applied to. How she was so proud of him, but not surprised in the slightest because she knew he was smart and driven and capable of anything and everything.

And god, it _hurts_.

"Huh," Merle shakes his head, "is this all because of Beth Greene?"

His head shoots up.

"How in the hell-"

"Don't act so surprised," Merle interrupts him with a wave of his hand, "I got friends on the outside that visit me a hell of a lot more than you do. I know you've been sticking it to the farmer's daughter – kudos, by the way."

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl mutters. Merle looks positively gleeful.

"_And_ you've gone and caught feelings? Jesus Christ, Darylina, I thought I taught you better than that."

"Don't matter none," Daryl shrugs, "it's over."

Which he guesses is true. He hasn't been to school since. All he's going by is her parting words and Aaron last text message, big capital letters, **WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?**

Nothing. Everything. The fact he's not sure is probably the start of the problem.

"Thank fuck," Merle cheers, causing a few nearby families to shoot him a look (the prison guards, too), "because if you keep datin' a girl like Beth Greene, next thing you know you're gettin' married, and you got a mortgage, and a brat or two, and she's draggin' you to church and to the grocery store and you ain't got control over _anythin'._"

The thing about envisioning a future with Beth Greene?

None of it sounds terrible.

None of it sounds like a life he'd hate.

And staring at Merle across a bolted down table, he's failing to see any downside. He's failing to see how Merle's life, or his father's life, is any better.

He remembers reading somewhere how the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

The Dixon way is broken.

Time to carve his life anew.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

The thing about high school break ups?

By the end of the day, _everyone knows. _

She told Tara and Sasha. She told the band. By lunch, Martinez and Aaron are sitting at their old table, and she assumes they must have been notified accordingly.

Doesn't matter though. She likes Daryl's friends. Daryl's friends didn't break her heart.

She feels stupid when she thinks about it. Stupider when she says is aloud, to herself in the mirror. It's hard to accept that you're just another teenage cliché; the girl who fell for the bad boy and was then surprised and hurt when he wasn't able to commit emotionally.

It's surprisingly easy, however, to go through the motions. To get up every day and go to class and laugh and smile with her friends. It's even easier, because Daryl isn't there.

A small consolation, she figures.

Maggie visits, even though it's during finals. She's tired and stressed, but she's there, whispering reassurances, stroking her hair. Doesn't ask her questions, doesn't offer solutions. And Beth is grateful, because Maggie _knows_ that sometimes logic is pointless when all you want to do is curl up and cry.

"I thought," she brushes the tears away, "that he could have loved me. Doesn't that so sound unbelievably stupid?"

Maggie sighs. Kisses the crown of her head. Sighs thoughtfully.

"Not at all, Bethy," she takes her hand, holds in tightly, "I'm pretty sure that boy did love you. In his own, broken way."

"I know I loved him," Beth whispers, and Maggie squeezes his hand.

"Don't think anyone loved Daryl Dixon the way you did," she says gently, "sometimes that can be frightening."

And she wishes that weren't true. She wishes that loving Daryl Dixon didn't mean driving him away. She wishes she were brave, wishes he were _braver. _Mostly, she wishes she had trusted him with her sadness, and then maybe he would have trusted her with his.

"Definitely not going to prom now," Beth sniffs, smiling wryly. Maggie laughs.

"We'll have our own prom," Maggie promises, "with popcorn and candy and all the prom themed teen movies you can think of."

"Sounds amazing," Beth grins. Maggie kisses her on the head once more.

"This will pass, Beth," she promises, "hearts break, but time heals everything."

"So they say," Beth rolls her eyes.

"There's always vodka?" Maggie offers.

Beth's laughter is genuine. She knows she'll be just fine.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He stays away for a week.

It's more than he can afford, really. If he wants to graduate, he needs to go everyday for the rest of the year.

He walks down the hall to whispers and pointed stares and when he reaches his locker, he pauses, because Beth is there, and she hasn't seen him yet and he could quickly turn and walk in the other direction.

Except her friends have seen him. And they're _glaring _at him.

"Hey," he offers.

"Hi," she smiles softly.

"You, uh, good?"

It's awkward, so awkward, especially with Tara and Sasha there, and sure, he likes them, but he doesn't like to be on the receiving end of Tara's sharp tongue or Sasha's icy glare.

"Good enough, you?"

The truth?

_I'm terrible, I miss you, I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm an idiot, I made a mistake, I'm so so so sorry. _

"Alright."

"Good talk, Dixon," Tara rolls her eyes, slamming Beth's locker shut, leading her away. Sasha throws him a look, following after them.

"Fuck man," Martinez appears beside him, shaking his head, "that was fucking _cold_."

"But deserved," Aaron joins in, leaning against the row of lockers, "so what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, what am I going to do?" Daryl asks, confused.

"To win her back?" Martinez looks at him like he's an idiot.

"Who says I want to win her back?" Daryl says stubbornly, but he knows that's a goddamn lie.

And his friends know it too.

"Fuck it," Daryl sighs, "how am I supposed to do that?"

"No straight guy has the answer," Aaron shrugs, "but there is one who can help us."

So yeah, he goes to see Eric. Drags along Martinez and Aaron, because it was their fucking idea. And they'll take that to their grave, because no one is going to know he spent two nights watching teen movies and listening to Eric's detailed power point presentation or partaking in the worst role-play exercise known to man.

Oh, and then there's the part where he buys a suit.

(But she's worth it, Beth Greene. She's so fucking worth it.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

When Daryl Dixon arrives on her doorstep on prom night in a _suit_, the world stops spinning.

Then, he's thrusting a bunch of flowers at her. And time restarts.

"What the hell is this, Daryl?" she whispers, taking it all in, from the tailored slacks, to the crisp grey shirt and black skinny tie. He is so obviously nervous, fidgeting with his cuffs, scuffing his shiny shoes against the porch stairs.

"I wanna take you to prom, Beth."

If only it could be that simple. If only her wanting it to be that simple could make it so.

"Please, Daryl," Beth pleads. _Please don't do this, please stop making it impossible to move on, please stop making me love you_.

"I fucked up, Beth," Daryl stares at his shoes, "I said a whole bunch of shit that I didn't mean and I hurt you. I fucked up and I'm sorry."

She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them. Grabs the flowers, turns on her heels and walks back into the house.

Grabs a vase. Fills it with water. Spins back around.

"Do you even know why what you said hurt me so much?" Beth glares, flowers forgotten on the kitchen counter, "I mean, you said I tried to kill myself because I was_ selfish_. You basically belittled my tragedy and my feelings. I am not some girl who is going to stand and let a man verbally abuse her, you know."

And that must sting because he physically recoils. Steps back.

"I ain't ever gonna be that man," Daryl says evenly, "I'm never going to be like my father, or my brother. I'm going to be better, I _swear_."

Her heart breaks, because how can he not know, after all this time, that he is a good man. That he is already better. That he is so worthy of all the love he deserves.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away," Beth sighs, feeling the tension ease slightly, "I should have confided in you. I can't expect you to talk to me if I don't talk to you."

"Ain't your fault, Beth," Daryl shakes his head, "I'm the asshole who-"

"No," Beth cuts him off firmly, "we both made mistakes. But we've gotta learn from them or we'll just keep repeating them."

"No more secrets," Daryl says, looking almost scared and she gets it, gets how baring your soul is terrifying and trusting someone with all your demons takes more courage than you think you have.

"We'll start small," Beth promises, "we'll take this slow."

Daryl nods.

"Slow is good."

He takes a step forward. She reaches for his hand. He pulls her forward and she leans into his chest.

It's a perfect fit.

"I don't have a prom dress," she whispers.

From the kitchen entranceway, Maggie clears her throat.

"Actually, you _do_."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He can't take his eyes off of her. To the point where it makes driving quite dangerous.

When she walked down that staircase half an hour later, his heart stopped. She's beautiful everyday, but in this moment, in this dress, she is positively breathtaking.

The blue of her dress matches the blue of her eyes and the cinched waist and bow only emphasises her already tiny figure. Her hair is in pinned braids and Maggie, Maggie who has tears in her eyes, pulls some of the daisies from his forgotten bouquet and weaves them through the braids.

"You look so beautiful, Bethy," Maggie sighs, "so beautiful."

She takes the words right out of his mouth.

It's only when they step into the crowded gymnasium that he finds his voice. Raises it above the music and the crowd, so only she can hear.

"I love you, Beth."

It's a funny thing, declarations of love. It's like having to rip your heart out of your chest and hope like hell that the person you're giving it to doesn't drop it. Doesn't misplace it.

It's hoping that they don't refuse it in the first place.

But this is Beth, his Beth, who wears her own heart on her sleeve. Who understands better than anyone the weight, the significance.

"I love you too."

After that, it's easy. It's easy to let her drag him onto the dance floor. It's easy to watch her dancing with her friends while he stands on the sidelines with his. It's easy to kiss her and hold her and tell her how beautiful she is.

"Think I fell a bit in love with you on the back of your motorcycle," she admits, blushing, "felt like I was flying. Freeing, almost. Never thought for a moment that I'd fall off or anything. I didn't know you all that well, but I remember feeling safe."

Funny thing is, she makes him feel safe too.

"What about you?"

"Hmm?"

"What about you, Daryl Dixon," Beth grins, wrapping her arms around his neck, "when did you fall in love with me?"

"Dunno," he shrugs, and she pouts, "I can't remember a time when I wasn't a bit in love with you."

"Oh."

Yeah, _oh_.

"We're just a damn romance novel, aren't we?" Beth giggles, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Yeah," Daryl chuckles, "we're the absolute worst."

And with her, swaying slowly on the dance floor, he's the one that feels like they're _flying_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Last gig ever, guys," Zach says seriously, one arm around Beth, the other around Noah, "let's go out with a bang."

Beth nods seriously, her other arm draped around Eric, his around Noah, the four of them in a huddle on the makeshift stage in Rosita's backyard.

"We have one first week of summer," Noah points out, and Eric snorts.

"Of senior year," Zach rolls his eyes, "come on, guys."

"Aren't we playing Tara's graduation party?" Eric asks, confused.

"We are?" Zach pulls out his phone, scrolling through his calendar, "Yeah, we are! Never mind, who cares then."

Beth laughs. She's going to miss this. Miss this a lot.

Because soon, high school will be over. And they'll have three months of picnics and lake trips and bonfires and parties until college starts. And then there's the rest of her life.

She's not going to pretend to know what the future will bring. Sure, she picked a school. Sure, she'll be sharing an apartment with Maggie. And then there's Daryl and she's not ready to let him go. Doesn't think she'll ever want to let him go.

Maybe he'll follow her. Maybe she'll end up following him. It's cheesy and cliché, but it won't matter as long as they're together.

(Romance novel, remember?)

She made it. She made it through the hardest year of her life and she came out the other side a stronger person. A better person.

A person she thinks her mama would be proud of.

"You with us, B?" Eric interrupts her thoughts, and she smiles brightly, nodding.

"Let's do this."

They break, and she makes her way to the front of the stage.

"We're 'Modern Mythologies'. This is a new one."

She catches Daryl's eye and smiles. And it's so easy to sing to him, to sing _for_ him. To think that as long as she has him as her audience that she'll happily do this for the rest of her life. Because she loves the ways his eyes light up when she's on that stage. Like she's the brightest and best star in the sky.

"_Who threw the punch that you couldn't handle? What came along and blew out your candle? Love, gotta light it back up…"_

Life tests you, she realises this. You climb and you fall and you pick yourself up. And sometimes, you _soar_. If you're lucky, you'll have a group of kind and generous and beautiful souls to share it with. If you're luckier, you'll find someone who just get _gets_ you. You'll find the person that will make you whole.

You'll find your damn romance novel.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

He stares at the plastic case in his hand, eyebrows raised.

"Is this a mix CD, Greene?"

Beth grins and nods.

"That you made?"

"Ye_s_," Beth shakes her head, smiling, "why is this so hard to comprehend?"

"Just didn't know my girlfriend was a dork, is all," Daryl smirks and Beth pouts.

"You don't have to listen to it," Beth takes the CD back, "I thought it was cute."

"Oh, it's the cutest," Daryl teases, "I can't wait to hear how much you love me."

"You're mean," Beth sticks out her tongue.

"You love it," Daryl retorts, snatching back the CD, "a lot, apparently."

He puts the CD into the player in his truck, turning the volume up. Almost immediately, Beth starts to hum along.

"Are you gonna sing along to every song, girl?"

"Probably."

"Good," Daryl pulls her to his side, "I'm glad."

He listens to the whole CD, from start to finish, while she sings softly beside him.

And this moment, well, it's pretty close to perfection.

**.**

**.**


End file.
